


just a writing test innit

by rocanny



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocanny/pseuds/rocanny
Summary: original characters woo





	just a writing test innit

**Author's Note:**

> original characters woo

It smelt of Burger-King, piss, and sweat. The dimness of the subway was almost sending the boy to sleep, but the screeching of distant ghost trains that were never to pass kept jolting him awake. Every time this happened, he’d shudder slightly and readjust himself upon the sticky and filth ridden floor. The bench in which he had wished to sit was currently occupied by what he could only assume was a black out drunk elf, who reeked of cheap alcohol and tobacco. He had stared down at them a few moments prior, their long and graceful limbs having been slumped in what was most certainly not a graceful manor. The hexbil that skittered and jumped in a rodent like manner was what he had trained his attention on, lest he doze off and end up in a similar fashion to the elf to his right. Hexbil were an odd creature, he must admit, people often mistook them for dust bunnies (which were completely different, and very very annoying), but he was quite certain they didn’t even eat anything; that they didn’t do anything in general. Just hopped around on their lanky little legs twittering and chirping to anything that would listen. Eh, they died after a week, best not get too attached, right? One made its bouncy way over to where he sat, and he took great care in making sure it didn’t touch him, lest it hex him. He gripped the thick fabrics that covered him and pulled them closer, the hexes a hexbil put upon people weren’t too bad, but he didn’t like the thought of allowing himself to get tainted in such a manner. Usually he’d scoop them up in a gloved hand and toss the things at anybody who was unlucky enough to cross his path.

The screeching picked up, he could feel the rushing of heat leaving the area and a damned carriage practically flew by upon the tracks at breakneck speeds, the inhabitants within wailing and clawing at the windows. The boy cringed back averting his gaze lest they manage to snatch his soul from him catching their sight alone. A shiver shook his frame, the familiar feeling of pins and needles creeping into his toes, and up his feet. He was meant to be waiting on somebody, who evidently hadn’t had the thought to show up, just wait a little longer, he had told himself, they’ll be here soon. But they hadn’t, and it had definitely begun to irk him. He wiggled his toes, in attempts to bring some life to them. 

“Are you Smith Johnson?” The voice had practically come out of nowhere, and it took everything in his system to stop the teen from jolting in a terrified flinch. The voice had a strong Scottish accent to it; which made sense, since he was in Scotland, but he hadn’t even spoken to anybody yet.  
“Just call me Smithy.” He muttered, looking to where the voice had come from. The man was pale, had a bit of a beard; black hair. Sunglasses.  
“Well, Smithy, I’m Director Stewart.”   
“Stewart? Your first name or your last?”  
“I don’t entirely see how that’s important.”   
Smithy’s grip on his jacket tightened, he already didn’t like this Stewart man, he didn’t like adults in general.  
“You human?” Smithy asked, looking almost bitter.  
“Nobody told me you were speciesist.”  
“So you’re not.” His expression soon became completely bitter, nose wrinkling, lip pulling down into a somewhat snarl, the boy couldn’t believe he’d exchanged words with something that was below him, “explains why you’re late.”   
He couldn’t help but add the jibe, yet Stewart seemed unaffected, much to Smithy’s disappointment,  
“Well, the reason I’m late is mainly because the operative who was meant to collect you turned out to have an awful case of possession.”  
Possession? Nobody had gotten seriously possessed in a long while,  
“He’s currently missing,”  
“What’s this got to do with me?” Smithy spat out, still hating every moment he was spending with Stewart, whatever the hell he was.  
“Well, you’re going to help find him. Before what’s in him kills everything on this planet, including you and me.”  
“He won’t be able to do that. Nothings able to do that.”  
“Imagine this, Smithy. An old forgotten god of death has clawed his way back to earth--”  
“God ain’t real.”  
“Well I hate to tell you this but the damn thing tore my arm off, so it’s definitely real.”  
Smithy was only just now realizing Stewart’s arm. Left, gone at just above the elbow. The fabric of the man's jacket had neatly been folded and pinned up. Smithy was cringing internally, ripped off? That must’ve hurt, a lot, but he’d never sympathised with a non-human, and he’d be damned if he was going to start now. Stewart probably deserved it.   
“And this thing is angry, psychopathic, and awfully good at getting what it wants,”   
“Doesn’t explain why you can’t just arrest the guy it’s possessing.”  
“Well, if it was so damned simple we would’ve done it.”  
“What makes it not simple?”   
“Only the fact it’s possessing one of the few dire lycans within the country.”

Now, dire wolf lycans were quite frankly one of the most terrifying things Smithy had even fought, maybe right after vampires. He shuddered slightly just thinking about vampires. Now, what makes dire wolf lycans so frightening? Well, imagine a wolf, make it much bigger, give it claws sharp enough to tear through steel, and the strength that could crack bone. And that’s not even half of that. They were scary because not only were they fast and had way too much endurance to be messing around with, but because you could be dealing with one at any moment, because for the most part they looked like normal people.  
“I thought lycans and werewolves weren’t allowed to be operatives.”  
“Well, we bend the rules a little here.”  
“Wouldn’t expect any more from you.” He sneered, what even was Stewart? He was betting on an elf of sorts, though from what Smithy could tell, he didn’t have the ears for it. No, he was also too stocky, too tall. Stewart took his shades off, looking down at Smithy almost judgmentally. His eyes were shockingly yellow, and emitted a soft glow.  
Stewart was a ghoul.  
Smithy’s jaw tensed, he didn’t like ghouls. Nobody liked ghouls. Mainly because they ate people. Smithy shuffled away slightly, sure, there was a type of ghoul that didn’t eat people, but they could be considered even more dangerous. Smithy felt drowsy.  
“Now, since I’m the guy who’s paying you, I’d appreciate it if you took your head out of your arse for a few seconds and got over the fact humans aren’t at the top of the food chain and you’re not as great as you think.”   
Smithy froze, Stewart just… insulted him. How dare he? The boy's expression went from just bitter to downright nasty, he got up to his feet, and stormed towards Stewart, grabbing the ghoul by his jacket and pulling him down to eye level.   
“Don’t speak to me like that, you parasite.”   
“I don’t think you understand that I can speak to you however I want.”   
Smithy’s head suddenly started to feel clouded, his limbs heavy; Stewart's eyes looked more golden than yellow at this point.  
“What are…. You doing-” He slurred, “you’re doing this- you’re doing... this to me!”  
Stewart only raised a brow in response, Smithy’s knees fell beneath him. Stewart was an energy ghoul. That was painfully clear now, why had he even gotten so close to him in the first place? Smithy’s fingers let go of Stewart’s jacket, they felt numb, just as did his head, he was on his knees now. Stewart was still looking down at him.  
“Quite honestly, this is not the first impression I wanted to give you.”   
Smithy could only hold his head in his hands in response, trying to keep himself awake. He wouldn’t let himself pass out, this ghoul was no better nor stronger than him, his pride couldn’t take such a beating. The ghoul before him put his sunglasses back on, and it felt like a large weight had been lifted off of the boy’s shoulders, yet he couldn’t bring himself to get to his feet. The air around him felt dense. And before he knew it, Stewart had scooped him up and slung him over his shoulder. Smithy pounded his fists on the ghoul’s back, though his movements were sluggish and weak,  
“Put. Me. Down!” He tried to yell, yet his voice sounded croaky and slurred. “This is kidnapping!”  
“As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t kidnapping. I’m just bringing you to somewhere you were going to end up anyways,”  
Smithy’s pleas were ignored, but above anything he was angry. He slumped, becoming dead weight. God he was tired, he wasn’t going to allow himself to fall unconscious though, right? He yawned, eyes attempting to close. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt though, right? Maybe a nap. And it wasn’t Stewart who was making him sleep, no, he had decided that he wanted to go to sleep. Nothing had influenced that.   
“I’m… going to sleep,” He muttered, putting Stewart’s back,  
“Sweet dreams.” The ghoul replied almost sarcastically, readjusting the teen on his shoulders into a position that could be considered more comfortable. And soon Smith Johnson was practically dead to the world in a dreamless sleep.


End file.
